Before
by otherhawk
Summary: COMPLETE! A story about Gibbs, how he got from the navy to piracy. Will involve everyones favourite pirate, Jack Sparrow and a brief guest turn from Norrington.
1. Prologue

OK, it has come to pass that I have ten days completely free. Being somewhat at a loss as to what to do with them, I have decided to write a nine-chapter story in nine days. Well, actually a seven-chapter story with a prologue and an epilogue. Why, you ask? Good question.  
  
Anyway, that is how I'm writing the story, now as to why I'm writing THIS story. There seems to be a lot of stories that explore the relationship between Jack and Anamaria, but if you ask me  
  
Cast of thousands: Which nobody did.  
  
Me: Quiet I'm on a roll. If you ask me, the dynamic between Jack and Gibbs in the film was far more interesting. I mean, come on he gets a bucket of water thrown over him, but as soon as he sees who it is, he isn't angry or upset anymore. That suggests quite a significant past to me. So this story is going to be exploring Gibbs' past and the relationship between him and Jack. I DON'T mean slash. I like slash fine, but some pairings really are too weird. Jack and Gibbs being one of them. Apologies to anyone who may write them, but uh, ugh. Um, that's all folks.  
  
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Prologue  
  
Joshamee Gibbs was worried. He had started off amused and had passed through stages of being concerned, annoyed and frustrated, and had even had a brief stretch of anger, but now he was most definitely worried.  
  
The reason for his state of unrest stood swaying at the helm of the Black Pearl, plainly silhouetted in the light of the full moon. Jack Sparrow. His Captain. His friend. And, at times such as this, the biggest idiot he had ever known.  
  
"It's been two days now." a woman's voice said beside him. Anamaria. It was unlucky to have a woman on board ship, that was true enough, but she had proved her worth time and time again. And it was worse luck to throw anyone off a ship who was worth being on it.  
  
"Aye," he said, answering her.  
  
"He shouldn't even be out of bed, and there he is at the helm for two days straight. No sleep, no food." She shook her head. "Fool."  
  
He looked at her. True enough, but all the same; "He is the captain."  
  
"You're not in the navy now."  
  
No, and that was a good thing, although he hadn't thought so back then.  
  
"Besides," she continued "I'm worried about him." She looked defensive. "He's a crazy fool, but he is a good captain. And he still owes me a boat."  
  
Gibbs smiled slightly; the argument over the boat had been raging for months now. Jack claimed that it wasn't his fault that the boat he had been going to give her had been blown up - in fact he had berated her for her carelessness, with a rather disturbing grin on his face. Then he had ducked, not quite quickly enough.  
  
"Alright, I'll talk to him."  
  
"Will he listen though?" she muttered darkly and moved off, though not too far.  
  
Gibbs took a deep breath and made his way aft to talk to his captain. It was impossible to miss the fact that something was wrong; Jack was leaning heavily on the wheel and as he got closer, he could see that the dark eyes were glazed over. On seeing him approach though, the other man made a perceptible effort to stand on his own two feet.  
  
"Good afternoon mate." He said with a grin.  
  
Ah. Was that designed to confuse him, or was Jack genuinely disorientated?  
  
"It's night time Captain." He said, carefully, and then watched as Jack looked up at the sky, with a look of fascination.  
  
"So it is. I hadn't noticed."  
  
He carefully watched Jack's face, for any signs that he was being teased, but it was impossible to tell. Not that that was unusual. Actually, Jack behaving at all rationally or seriously probably would be cause for concern.  
  
"Don't you think you should rest, Jack?"  
  
The beads rattled together as the captain shook his head.  
  
"I'm fine, totally fine."  
  
"It's only been five days since you were shot." Have to be careful not to antagonise him; there was absolutely no chance that Jack Sparrow would do something if he thought someone was telling him to. Maybe another approach . . .?  
  
"How about some rum?" He produced his treasured flask, and passed it over to his friend, who, as ever, accepted greedily and did his level best to empty it in one gulp. He passed it back, apparently rather reluctantly. Faced with little alternative, Gibbs did his best to match his captain's effort. The alcohol burned his throat; he liked drinking but he'd never been able to match Jack. Looking at the man, who was neither especially tall nor broad, he wondered where he put it. He passed the flask back. This time Jack had to tip the flask back all the way and only a few drops came out. The look of dismay on his face was comic.  
  
"It's empty."  
  
Now for the clever part of the plan. "There's more in your cabin Jack. Why don't we go there and keep a few bottles company."  
  
His captain turned and looked at him, face entirely serious. "If it is that you're wanting me to go and lie down, why don't you simply say so?"  
  
Damn. Oh well, "It would be a good idea, Jack. You haven't slept for two nights now, you've hardly eaten and you're still weak from that bullet I dug out your thigh." Weak. Shouldn't have said that. He wouldn't like that. Time to press on wildly. "So it would be a good idea, if you came with me and got a few hours sleep. Anamaria can look after the Pearl."  
  
"No." That fairly wild, and at first glance inane, grin again.  
  
He did his best to suppress a sigh. It was like telling a sleepy child that it was bedtime when it didn't want to go. "Jack, you need to rest or you'll collapse."  
  
He watched with a mixture of resignation and concern (and, to be honest, a little awe too) as Jack pushed himself up off the wheel until he was standing entirely independently. He was definitely swaying more than usual. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and a look of immense pain flickered across his face.  
  
"I am still captain . . . " he began and then, with a look of astonishment, fell down.  
  
He would have hit the deck if Gibbs hadn't been anticipating this, and had quickly moved to catch him. He rolled his eyes, and hoisted the unconscious man up so that he was nestled in his arms.  
  
"Come on then, you bloody lunatic" he muttered, but gently. Looking down on to the deck, he caught Anamaria's eye and she quickly rushed to take the place unexpectedly vacated by their captain.  
  
He carried his burden forwards, to the captain's cabin. Cotton stepped forwards as he was crossing the deck, a questioning look on his face.  
  
"He'll be fine." Gibbs told him.  
  
"Horizon ahoy." the parrot squawked.  
  
Gibbs snorted. "No doubt."  
  
Cotton walked with him and opened the door to the cabin. Then he nodded and left. Gibbs carried Jack in and laid him down on the bed. Being very careful not to wake the sleeper, he checked on the injured leg. It was slightly inflamed, but seemed a lot better. About the only time it was possible to check on Jack's injuries was when he was unconscious.  
  
Gibbs shook his head. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Jack push himself too far. Since he got the Pearl back he had been more inclined than ever to do so. It was as if he was afraid that someone would take her away, if he weren't there on deck, all the time. Gibbs couldn't help but worry that one of these days his friend would go too far and wouldn't be able to find his way back.  
  
He shook his head again, and started rummaging through the junk that had accumulated since Jack moved back into the cabin. Funny that, he reflected. Jack kept the rest of the ship spotless, but his own living area was a shambles while, from what Gibbs had been able to see, Barbossa had kept the cabin beautiful but had let the rest of the ship go to hell. Literally, in some ways. Finally, he pulled out a blanket and used it to cover the sleeping man.  
  
He was turning to leave, when he heard Jack moan slightly and turned back to see him shift uneasily. Concerned, he moved back to the bed and put a hand on the younger man's forehead. It was too warm for his liking. He frowned.  
  
"You never do things simply, do you?" he asked, pointlessly. "Suppose I'd better stay here, make sure you're alright." Looking round he spied a chair and. After clearing a large pile of charts and a copy of Dante's Divine Comedy off it, he settled down for a long night.  
  
He watched his unconscious friend and found his thoughts going back to a time over eight years ago, to a time before he knew Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
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There you go, that's the last you'll see of the 'present' for a while. By the way, I figure that 'present' is maybe a year after the movie.  
  
Cast of thousands: And is written in inverted commas?  
  
Me: Whatever. As to the Divine Comedy, before anyone asks, well that line about the deepest circle of hell reminded me of it so I wondered if Jack had actually read it. I dunno, maybe I'm just crazy. Yes that hypothesis works for me.  
  
Please review. Just click on that little button, right there. Go on. 


	2. Chapter 1

I meant to mention in the last chapter, that, as you have probably guessed, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, nor do I make any money from my writing.  
  
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The letter had reached him while he was in Portsmouth. It was a short note more than a letter, really, scrawled in an unfamiliar and uneven hand.  
  
"Your wife is ill. Come at once" was all it said, but those seven words were enough to turn his blood to ice.  
  
In those days, he was a loyal and conscientious member of the Royal Navy, so rather than simply go running off, he went to his commanding officer, a Captain Attwood, and asked for leave. He was kept sitting in the man's antechamber for three hours. He couldn't sit still, he moved from chair to chair, pacing up and down, while the officers gathered in the doorway to the next room eyed him curiously.  
  
Finally he was admitted into the office. The captain expressed no interest or sympathy at his story, but allowed him a week of leave all the same. He had run out of that office, hardly stopping to salute. Then he had worked hard to find a way of getting home. He had spent the last of his money, carefully saved to allow him to buy his wife an anniversary present, on a ticket for the stagecoach north, all his thoughts on the little village and the woman who awaited him there. Ann. The second happiest day of his life had been when she had agreed to marry him. The happiest had, of course, been their wedding day. She had looked more beautiful then than she ever had before. He hadn't thought that possible. Now, they had had five happy years together. Almost five; the anniversary was in a months time. When he got home, she would be surprised to see him. The letter was going to turn out to have been a false alarm. Ann would be fine, she was the strongest woman he had ever known. But they could use this surprise week's leave well. It was late spring after all. A good time of year. They could have a picnic by the burn she loved so much. Maybe climb the hill and watch the sunset as they had done that day when he had proposed. They would be so happy together.  
  
He arrived an hour late for her funeral.  
  
He sat by her graveside, holding a few already withering flowers. The sun was shining brightly, highlighting the name on the tombstone. "Ann Gibbs Beloved wife" it said. His fingers traced the rough stone, as though he caressed her soft face. It seemed everyone from the village had been by, to offer sympathetic, but useless words. He spent everyday of the short time he had sitting here, and every night lying awake in their empty bed, in their empty house. What else was there to do?  
  
When his week was up, he went back to Portsmouth. His friend's and fellow sailors spoke quietly around him. They took care to make sure that he ate meals, and that he was included in their conversations. He felt oppressed by their pity. When he walked into the bar they frequented, the conversation stopped for a minute and then continued. He got drunk. They carried him back to the billet, and avoided him as much as possible. He, imagining Ann's disapproval, hated himself.  
  
Everywhere he went, there was something that reminded him of her. The smell of the flowers that she so often wore in her hair. The sight of a blonde woman - it seemed any blonde woman - made his heart leap in hope and he would look twice, just in case.  
  
After two weeks, he called in every favour he had ever had owed to him, by anyone in an effort to get sent as far away from England as possible.  
  
That was how he found himself on board a ship bound for Port Royal. It had been a bad trip. He had kept himself well anaesthetised with rum, but still the memories plagued him, especially at night. During the day he could keep himself occupied with his duties and also with talking to the new governor's young daughter, a bright lass by the name of Elizabeth. He told her stories and tried to ignore the pain. It was stories about pirates that she was most interested in. He knew lots of them. So did she, but hers showed them as romantic figures, not the filthy devils he knew them to be. Still, she was young. She would grow out of it. He complained about having her on board all the time. Everyone knew that it was bad luck. But, being honest, she was a nice child and good company, so he didn't object too much.  
  
He did object when he heard her singing that bloody awful song in the mist though. Did she want to attract the pirates to them? He wasn't totally sure how the pirates would know, but sure enough he saw they did as they found a wrecked merchant vessel. Plainly the work of pirates, even if everyone was set on denying it. Like that young Lieutenant Norrington. A man destined to go far no doubt, but a bit of a stick with it.  
  
They reached Port Royal without further incident. Gibbs continued to tell his stories to the girl, and to the young lad they had rescued from the burning ship. The boy clearly shared his ideas of pirates but seemed reluctant to argue with young Miss Swan. That amused him a little; he could remember being that age and wanting to impress girls without really knowing why. That thought reminded him, inevitably, of Ann and he took a long drink from the flask which he now kept with him at all times.  
  
Once in Port Royal, he did his duties to the best of his abilities. The navy and the sea were all he had left and he wanted, needed not to let them down. But it was hard. He was constantly distracted by his memories and it frequently seemed a lot easier to stay drunk than to sober up. He knew that his commanding officer, the newly-promoted Captain Norrington was watching him, but he didn't know what he could do to stop himself.  
  
They were out hunting pirates in the Interceptor most of the time. To be honest, they very rarely found any, but Norrington argued that the few they did find - and eliminate - made the exercise worthwhile. Gibbs tried hard to see his point, but the long periods with no action whatsoever made it harder than ever to refuse the call of the bottle - and the memories. The end came abruptly, when he passed out drunk, when he was supposed to be on watch. It wasn't the first time, but this time he got caught and was hauled before Captain Norrington.  
  
"Mr Gibbs." The man didn't bother to look up from the paperwork he was reading.  
  
"Yessir." He did his best to stand to attention, but his head was swimming and the room was spinning in a way that was unnatural, even aboard ship.  
  
"This is not the first time that you have been found drunk while on duty."  
  
He licked his lips, nervously. "No, sir. I'm sorry sir."  
  
"Do you have any sort of explanation?"  
  
He considered talking about Ann, about the pain, the loneliness and the anger. But his superior kept talking without giving him a chance to speak. He probably wouldn't have spoken anyway. He may have lost his dignity, but his pride lingered on.  
  
"I must tell you that in my opinion there can be no explanation nor excuse for this sort of behaviour. With no-one on watch, we could have been surprised by an attack from an enemy."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
The other man sighed, and for the first time looked up. "I'm afraid I have no alternative but to dismiss you from the service. The Royal Navy has no place for men who endanger the lives of their shipmates. When we return to port, we will commence formal proceedings. That is all."  
  
He took the gesture of dismissal and left, breathing heavily. He leaned against a wall. What was he supposed to do now? He was in the Caribbean, he knew no-one here except for his shipmates. He couldn't go back to England; there was nothing for him there either. There was nothing for him anywhere.  
  
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There we go. If you enjoyed it - please review. If you didn't enjoy it - please review. 


	3. Chapter 2

Here is the third instalment. Yay me, for my plan is working. Thank you to xvangelkissvx, brokeassproduc and Yakkorat for reviewing, glad you're enjoying it.  
  
Uh, Yakkorat, I always really love reading your reviews, but one question. How did you know that the Divine Comedy was in print until 1629. I mean, how does a person come to have that piece of information at their disposal? Sorry, I was just surprised and fascinated. I knew when it was first published (roughly) but now when it went out of print.  
  
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He decided to stay in Port Royal. Or rather he couldn't be bothered going anywhere else and so he simply drifted along without really adjusting to his new life. He got a room near the waterfront. It somehow managed to be very nearly empty and yet at the same time incredibly dingy. He shared it with two other men, hopeless men, like himself and yet still they looked down on him, because he could have been, and had been, so much more. The house was surrounded by taverns. There were always drunks lining the staircase. Sometimes he was one of them.  
  
By day, he worked in a very small, one man boat supposedly fishing. In truth, he simply floated around off the island, using the fishing line as camouflage. He had to do something after all, and not having the sea beneath him felt wrong. When the rent was demanded, or he ran out of money for food or for rum, he would start catching fish for real and sell them to a marketplace trader. Then he would go back to drifting.  
  
Often he watched the Royal Navy ships in the dock. The Dauntless and the Interceptor especially. He could see the red uniforms, running over the deck, busying themselves at whatever task was set. He envied them. Funny, how you never really appreciated what you had till it was gone. He had been in the navy since he was no more than a boy. He missed the companionship. He missed the thrill of being on a ship. He missed the sense of purpose, the drive. He even missed having someone give him orders, though that had never sat well with him before.  
  
When he met his former comrades by chance when they were off duty, the kind ones pretended they did not see him, did not know him. The spiteful ones taunted him, calling him a useless old drunk. The ones that were truly cruel though, were the ones who sympathised with him. The ones who offered suggestions as to how he could make his life better.  
  
He did not want his life better. He had what he deserved, right enough. This existence was bearable and that, perhaps, was as much as anyone could expect. And when it wasn't bearable, there was always the flask and the blessed unconsciousness. Or the smell of the sea and the rocking of the boat, even if it was only a tiny thing, no more than a couple of miles from shore.  
  
It was perhaps a few months since he had been dismissed from the Navy when he awoke on an ominously overcast day to realise that once again he needed money. The only thing to be done was to go out and try and catch some fish. He sighed. To be honest he didn't feel much like working that day. Not that he ever truly felt like working any more. Unbidden an image of his Ann arose in his mind, her face disapproving. Ruthlessly he suppressed the sight and headed for his boat.  
  
There were very few ships in the water that day. The weather had put most of them off.  
  
"Cowards." He muttered, ignoring the thought that it was only the direst necessity that was sending him out. He sailed out, perhaps two miles from shore and set his line. The fish weren't biting. After two hours, he swore, cast an uneasy glance at the sky and sailed on a bit further. There was a calmness on the air, and an electric charge that he didn't like. He set his line again and took out his flask. He didn't normally drink on the boat, not when he was drifting anyway, just when he was working. Feeling nervous he took a long drink. And another. And another. Eventually he fell asleep, missing the fact that a fish had taken his bait.  
  
In his dream, he was by her grave again. It was winter now, there was a layer of snow several inches thick on the ground. He didn't feel cold though, even though he was sitting in it. Without conscious thought, his hand went out to touch the stone. He gently brushed the snowy covering off it and frowned to realise that the words had changed. It now read; "Ann Gibbs. Wife, not missed at all."  
  
"That's not right." He said aloud.  
  
"Isn't it?" the voice came from behind him. He turned and saw her standing there. He leapt to his feet, joyfully and ran towards her aware he was dreaming but not caring. She held up her hand to stop him. "You aren't exactly honouring my memory." She continued.  
  
"I miss you too much." He couldn't excuse himself, not to her, never to her.  
  
"You've thrown away the only things that ever mattered to you. The sea and the Navy. And me. Maybe you couldn't have saved me. But you didn't try. You were late, as always. And I died alone."  
  
The words, though he knew he dreamt them, were like a knife twisted in his heart. The wound he had been avoiding these long months was treacherously exposed by his own mind. He couldn't prevent the tears from falling.  
  
"I'm sorry." He sobbed. "So sorry."  
  
He woke up, screaming her name to find that the storm had finally broken. The sky was a deep, angry shadow. The thunder seemed a nearly constant noise, broken only by the howling of the wind. He could see flashes of lightning, seemingly all around him. Waves crashed over the side of the boat, threatening to sink it. His fishing line was long gone. The deck splintered at the pressure of the water. There was no sign of land. The dark smudge of Port Royal had completely vanished. Desperately he clung to a line and prayed that the end would come quick.  
  
It did, after a particularly large wave, the mast gave an ominous creak and, very slowly, began to topple. He watched in helpless horror as it fell and made a desperate, but futile effort to get out of the way. Something hit him on the head and he knew no more.  
  
He was very surprised to wake up, surprised that he was still alive and completely astonished to discover that he was still in his now mast-less boat and the storm had passed. It still wasn't a good situation however; he had no food, no means of moving the boat and no idea where he was. He had swapped a quick, merciful death for a long, lingering one. He knew there was no hope; he was not a simpleton. He examined the boat. Apart from the obvious loss of the mast, it was in surprisingly good shape. It was at least in no immediate danger of sinking. He strained his eyes, staring in every direction but he could see no sign of either land or sails. The sun was higher in the sky than it had been, which told him that it was tomorrow, figuratively speaking, either a little before noon or a little after. His clothes were dry, suggesting that the storm must have been a short one. The bump on his head was painful to touch, but seemed to have bled little. Always a good sign, in his opinion. Best of all, he still had his flask, and indeed, it was still half full. He took a drink, but only a small one. He wanted to conserve the precious liquid for as long as possible. He was still very weary, and so he leant back and closed his eyes.  
  
He was woken by the sound of voices. He sat up abruptly. There was a ship to the side of him. Several men stood at the railings, looking down at him. He squinted; they appeared to be shabbily dressed and most of them had noticeable scars.  
  
"Not dead then." One of them said. He sounded disappointed.  
  
"No." another agreed. "So pay up, Skinny."  
  
The first sighed, and threw something at the other.  
  
Gibbs blinked, finding this exchange hard to believe. Abruptly he realised that these must be pirates. Surely no other sort of men would bet on whether or not someone was alive or dead. And that would account for their dress.  
  
Another man appeared at the railings. He wore a fairly large hat and the other men seemed to defer to him. He looked down at Gibbs briefly.  
  
"Get him out." He said, and then walked away.  
  
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There we are, fairly short but I knew that one was going to be. The next will probably be longer and I'll get that done tomorrow. You know, that's the second chapter I've done without a mention of Jack. That feels profoundly unnatural and is probably unlucky. Please review, it can only help. 


	4. Chapter 3

Here we go, chapter four. I mean three. Bloody prologue messing with me head. Anyway, thank you for reading, and those of you who have, thank you for reviewing. For anyone who hasn't – please do. I'm a desperate pirate.  
  
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He climbed up the rope to board the ship, and lay gasping on the deck for a few moments like a dying fish. The pirates who stood around him jeered and whistled. He couldn't fully comprehend that he was safe now, at least from drowning or going mad from the heat and the thirst. Exactly what the pirates intended to do with him remained to be seen. Dizzily, he pulled himself to his feet. His rescuers continued to mock him, but also looked him up and down, appraisingly. One of them, the one who had been referred to as Skinny, suddenly darted forwards and seized his flask.  
  
"Hey!" Gibbs protested, trying to grab it back.  
  
The pirate, who was well named, giggled and shook the flask backwards and forwards just out of his reach. "Uh, uh. That's the price of your rescue mate."  
  
"Well, for a start." another pirate snorted.  
  
"Yeah," the skinny one agreed. He tipped the flask up and took a drink, then sighed loudly and wiped his mouth. "A very good start."  
  
"Give me that," the second pirate made a grab for the flask. Skinny moved it out of the way.  
  
"No! S'mine."  
  
It seemed about to become a fight, when all the pirates fell silent, staring at something over Gibbs' shoulder. He turned round slowly. The man he assumed was the pirate captain stood there. He looked, at first sight, like an off duty naval officer. The clothes he wore were fancy and there was something in the way he held himself. But on closer inspection, the fine clothes were shabby and in need of mending, and his hair was arranged in an approximation of the wigs that true gentlemen wore.  
  
He strode forwards and stopped just in front of Gibbs.  
  
"Good day to you," he said and bowed very slightly. Gibbs made no reply. The pirate continued anyway. "I am Captain of this fine vessel, The SeaSkull. My name is Captain Velvet." he paused, until Gibbs had muttered his name. "We have, you will admit, rescued you from certain death. In exchange you will serve us."  
  
"I won't serve on a bloody pirate ship." he blurted out. The waiting audience shifted between uneasiness and amusement.  
  
Velvet's eyes narrowed. "You are very perceptive." he purred. "But I was not offering you a choice. You will serve as a ship's slave and perhaps, after a while I will choose to allow you to become a member of my crew."  
  
"I will not!" he answered, with more defiance at his disposal than sense. He may have fallen from what was right in most ways; he would not complete his shame by turning pirate. "And don't think for a minute that I will ever serve a false dog such as yourself!"  
  
The Captain laughed a little, seeming to find his refusal and insults amusing. "Perhaps some time spent incarcerated will teach him the merits of compliance." The pirate crew, to a man, looked blank. Their captain rolled his eyes. "Take him to the brig." he explained.  
  
He was dragged below. He didn't bother struggling. Even if he managed to get free from the men holding his arms he would remain trapped on board their ship. He was pushed into the cell. Somewhat to his surprise, it was already occupied. The other prisoner was a fairly young man, not amazingly tall and slender with it. His black hair was full of beads and was held back with a red bandana. He looked up as Gibbs and his escorts appeared, and his dark eyes - lined with kohl, surprisingly - held an expression of utter laziness.  
  
"Good day to you." he said. "Is it that you've come to your senses and decided to promote me from captive to captain?"  
  
The pirates engaged in some synchronised scowling. "No. We've brought another prisoner. Cap'n Velvets orders." Skinny spoke up.  
  
His friend glared at him. "Don't go encouraging him. He'll be talking for the rest of the day!"  
  
The prisoner ignored this. "Oh, so you've decided that I need the joys of companionship to lessen the boredom of confinement?" The man had an odd way of moving not just his hands and arms, but his whole body, while he talked.  
  
There was much confusion from the pirates, and for that matter from Gibbs. Why did this man not realise the perils of his situation? He didn't have time to think before the cell door was thrown shut behind him. Most of the pirates left, but Skinny lingered behind for a moment. "Good luck with 'im." He whispered, nodding towards the other prisoner. He tapped his finger on the side of his head meaningfully, and pulled a face. "Mad. Completely." Then he left.  
  
The other prisoner, had watched the exchange with a smirk on his face, now he grinned outright revealing several gold teeth. Gibbs settled down in the corner of the cell as far away from the probable lunatic as possible, and tried not to look at him, but his eyes were drawn somehow over there. He blinked in astonishment. He had a bottle of rum! Where in the name of god had he found that. The other man, seeing his regard grinned widely, once again and stood up stretching, the bottle still clutched tightly in his hand. He made his way across the cell, swaying noticeably as he walked, and sat himself down besides Gibbs. In fact, he sat closer than was normally held acceptable, and Gibbs tried to move further away, but was prevented by the walls of the cell. The strange man offered the bottle.  
  
"Drink?" he asked. "Not too much mind, it was hard work stealing that."  
  
Frowning, he took the bottle and gulped a measure down. He gave it back to the strange man, who somehow managed to fit it into the pocket of the coat he had thrown over his shoulders. "There you go!" No-one in a prison should have a voice that bright. "That's better now isn't it?"  
  
He was forced to agree. "Thank you." he added, as a reluctant afterthought.  
  
"That's alright mate." That annoying grin again. His companion seemed a simpleton. "What's your name?" The question came out of nowhere.  
  
He was reluctant to answer it. It seemed best not to encourage the man. "Why should I tell you?"  
  
"Why should you not?"  
  
He didn't have an answer for that, so he didn't bother saying anything. There was silence for a while, then his odd companion rolled up his right shirt sleeve, to scratch at a rather dirty bandage. It was stained with old blood and rapidly coming undone. That wasn't what caught Gibbs' attention though; there was a 'P' branded into his arm.  
  
He sprang to his feet. "You're another pirate. Like them."  
  
The man simply smiled. "Pirate, yes. Like them, no. I'm bloody unique, mate."  
  
That seemed inarguable. With little else to do, he sat back down again, once again creating some distance between himself and his cell-mate. It made no odds however, the man simply scooted over and sat next to him, as close as ever, seemingly incapable of taking the hint that he wasn't welcome.  
  
"I take it that you are not a pirate, since you seem to find the fact that I am a pirate intolerable so I would therefore ask what line it is that you do follow that has attracted the attention of this bunch of miscreants?"  
  
Once he had translated that sentence, he answered; "No real line. I do some fishing. And I used to be in the navy." How he wished he could keep that wistful tone out of his voice. "I got washed out to sea in the storm and picked up by this ship."  
  
The pirate nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He moved further away and occupied himself with attempting to retie the bandage round his arm. It seemed beyond him, however and Gibbs found himself unwilling to watch the man struggle any longer, pirate or no. He crossed over and knelt down in front of the man.  
  
"Here. Let me." He was startled that the dark eyes that suddenly regarded him intensely were entirely serious.  
  
After a long moment the pirate nodded and held out his arm. He removed the bandage. The wound revealed was deep but half healed, although it looked like it would open again fairly easily. Oddly it had the look of neither a sword cut nor a bullet graze.  
  
Apparently catching his astonishment, the pirate said. "Barrel of gunpowder exploded. I got hit by a splinter." There was a certain gleam in his eye that suggested that this had been, despite the injury, a fun incident.  
  
He nodded, without comment and retied the bandage, being as gentle as he could.  
  
"Thank you." The pirate said gravely when he was finished. For a while they sat together in silence. As ever in quiet moments, Gibbs' thoughts turned to Ann. He wondered if he might soon be reunited with her. He wondered whether he felt glad of that or sorry. He had to make her proud of him though. Now more than ever. He had to keep on fighting to the last. Perhaps he might escape? But there didn't seem any easy way of doing that. And his companion would be of no help. He glanced at the man by his side, and was astonished and infuriated to see that he was making shadow pictures on the wall.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" he demanded angrily. "Don't you realise that you're locked up? Don't you realise that they're going to make you a slave?"  
  
"No they're not. They're going to kill me. They're just waitin' till they get to Tortuga." He didn't seem at all concerned about this. "But we won't get there till tomorrow, and in the meantime I'm bored."  
  
Gibbs blinked. "They're going to kill you?"  
  
This grin was wildly malevolent "So they think. No-one's managed yet."  
  
He felt a surge of sympathy for this poor fool who was in an entirely hopeless position and didn't even realise it. If boredom was what he was complaining about though, then that at least he could be helped with.  
  
"How 'bout a story. I know loads." he offered.  
  
"Alright then mate." The insane pirate settled back against the wall.  
  
He searched his memory for an appropriate story and settled on one that the young Miss Swan had told him.  
  
"This story is about how Jack Sparrow outwitted an admiral and stole his flagship." For a moment, an expression of vivid amusement crossed the face of the listener, but it vanished so fast that he decided it was probably nothing but a figment of his imagination.  
  
"Alright. For whatever reason, this Jack Sparrow – who as you probably know is a pirate – was in need of a ship. Being a somewhat optimistic rogue, he set his eye on the flagship, the pride of the royal navy you might say. Of course, it was heavily guarded so he decided to be stealthy about it. Late one night he broke into the Admiral's house – well, it were more of a mansion, really."  
  
"How?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"How was it, that he broke into the mansion?"  
  
"Oh." He scratched his head, he'd never been told that. "He climbed up some ivy." He improvised. "He climbed the ivy and ever so quietly, entered a window. Now, it turned out to be the window of the admiral's daughter." He was warming to the tale, Miss Swan had never told this part, but there was no harm in embellishments after all. "She was a little surprised to see him, but he was a charming sort of rogue and they spent some time exchanging, ah, pleasantries."  
  
He was a little unnerved by the pirate's smirk but continued anyway. "That concluded, he stole into the Admiral's dressing room – having been given precise directions by the daughter you understand, and stole his uniform including" here he held up a hand for dramatic effect "Including his hat. Then, dressed in his ill-gotten booty, he simply made his way down to the flagship, and dismissed all the guards, who were too busy saluting to take a good look at the 'admiral' and sailed off into the horizon."  
  
The listening pirate put his hands together. "That is a wonderful tale. And I've never heard that version before. My thanks to you."  
  
Gibbs couldn't suppress a smile at the obvious delight that the man had taken from his story. The pirate responded with a smile of his own. "Best to get some sleep, mate. Going to have a busy day tomorrow escaping."  
  
Gibbs couldn't believe his ears. "Escaping? How? You have a plan?"  
  
"No. But I will. Just wait for the opportune moment, mate. That's the key." He leant back and closed his eyes.  
  
Gibbs watched him. This really was a mad man he was sharing a cell with and a pirate to boot. But for all that, somehow, he had a certain basic likableness, an annoying charm. He would be sorry to see him die, in truth. But there was nothing that could be done about that. With nothing else to do, he too lay back and attempted to sleep.  
  
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Wow, I seem to have gone from incredibly short chapters to incredibly long ones. At least it felt long.  
  
Anyone not figuring out that the man in the cell is Jack needs to go watch the film again. Actually, to hell with it, everyone needs to go watch the film again. Everyone! In the whole wide world!  
  
Um, please review? 


	5. Chapter 4

Hey, thanks for the reviews mates, I love the smell of reviews in the morning.  
  
Cast of thousands: That does it; take her coffee away NOW.  
  
Me: No! Never!  
  
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Once again he was at her grave, but it had moved. It was no longer in the village cemetery but was rather in a desolate wasteland, like the stories he'd heard from other sailors about deserts – an endless mass of sand broken only by dark rocks looming out of the earth. The wind stung his face and he felt his eyes water. He wiped them, and noticed that the tears smeared on the back of his hand were not salt water but red blood.  
  
Startled, he got to his feet and noticed as he did so that the tombstone was now made of a black stone, and was entirely smooth and blank. He stepped back away from it and found himself falling into dark, dark water. It was over his head and, for some reason, he opened his mouth and the taste was bitter. He surfaced again, in time to see the Interceptor sail away from him, the crew and officers standing impassively at the rails, watching him drown. He went under.  
  
Hitting the seabed, he found himself back in the desert, near a cliff face. Ann was there, standing very near the edge. He called her name, and she looked up at him and smiled. He knew that all he had to do was reach her and everything would be alright. She would be alive and they would be together, and everything would be alright. He started towards her, but the more he walked, the further away both she and the cliff became. Puzzled he walked faster, and they retreated faster. Finally desperate, terrified, he broke into a headlong run and they receded far into the distance, though he could still make out every little detail of her dress, her hair. In frustration he called her name and a bolt of lightning slammed out of the sky and hit the edge of the cliff. In slow motion, it slid downwards, taking her with it. She screamed his name as she fell.  
  
"NO!" he screamed as he awakened. He sat up, sweating and shaking, flailing his arms ready to challenge anyone and anything. His fist connected with something and that was when he fully woke up.  
  
He sat, staring into the darkness. There was absolutely no light, nothing could be seen at all. It had been so real, he had seen her fall and hadn't been able to help her. He was breathing hard and there was a pounding in his ears.  
  
Presently he became aware of an arm around his shoulders, and a soft voice talking meaninglessly.  
  
"Its alright mate, its over, you're here."  
  
For a moment, he leaned in, grateful for the support, the companionship and able to accept it because just as he couldn't see the other's face so too was his hidden. But remembering that the man he was with was a pirate and a mad man, he moved cautiously away. He should not need help from that sort, it was humiliating that he had even been seen like that. Real men, men of the royal navy, did not have nightmares, and if they did they weren't upset by them. He remembered how Ann had laughed at him for that notion, and how she had kissed him when he did suffer from his dreams. But she was gone, and he could be strong.  
  
His thoughts were broken by the rum bottle brushing against his hand. He accepted it.  
  
"There's no shame in it, mate." The voice that came out of the darkness was gentle. "Every man – and woman and child for that matter – is frightened by what he sees at night sometimes. Everyone sees what they've lost. What they might lose. What they never got a chance to have." There was a wistful tone to the voice, which was at the same time wise and hypnotic. "There's no shame."  
  
He felt the rum bottle being removed from his hand, and he strained to hear in the darkness, the cork being removed and the liquid quietly drunk.  
  
"Everyone 'as their own demons, see. The things that they can maybe hide from fine during the day but which come out to torment them at night. Choices that you made wrong, or perhaps never had a chance to make at all." The hand was on his shoulder again. Not pressing, but firm. Letting him know that there was someone else there. "What haunts you?"  
  
He shook his head, both unwilling and unable to speak. It was impossible that the man could have seen him in the pitch black, but he seemed to take the message from the silence, because he didn't ask again. Instead he started telling a story of his own. It was a good one, told in the first person, full of sea monsters and beautiful women. Gibbs strongly suspected that it was being made up on the spot but it was a captivating tale for all that.  
  
It kept both of them occupied until it grew light. Gibbs was surprised to see a dark bruise forming on his companion's cheek.  
  
"What happened?" he asked, pointing.  
  
"Ah," a grimy hand rubbed at the mark ruefully. "You're a bit handy with your fists when you're woken, savvy?"  
  
He cringed. "I hit you?"  
  
A nod and a somewhat amused grin. "Don't worry about it, I didn't take any notice." He lay back against the wall and closed his eyes, seemingly occupied with the movements of the ship which seemed to be turning slightly.  
  
Gibbs regarded this strange pirate. Having received what must have been a hefty punch he proceeded to comfort the man who gave it to him? That was odd behaviour indeed. But it had helped. The words, the story – even the physical contact had all helped to make him forget for a while. He wondered if his companion was quite as mad as he appeared.  
  
"Thank you." He said suddenly.  
  
Dark eyes opened abruptly, looking directly at him. "For what?"  
  
"Last night."  
  
A grave nod. "Don't mention it. Ever." That sudden grin. "I have me reputation to think of after all."  
  
He couldn't suppress an answering smile. Suddenly the other man leapt to his feet.  
  
"That's it!" he announced, excitedly.  
  
"What?" he frowned.  
  
"Tortuga."  
  
There was no window in the cell, no hole in the walls. They had absolutely no idea of their outside surroundings. "How can you tell?" he asked, doing his best to humour the lunatic.  
  
"I've sailed this many times, I know how it feels. I could do it blindfolded." He staggered his way over to the cell door. Gibbs watched, confused as he pulled the bone out of his hair and untwisted a small length of wire from the end, then with growing understanding and excitement as he put his arms out of the bars and began to use the wire and the bone together as a lock pick. There was an expression of intense concentration on his face and when Gibbs started to ask how long it would take he growled for silence.  
  
Suddenly, there was a click and the door swung open. The man regarded it with an expression of intense astonishment, before turning back to Gibbs and saying  
  
"That's the first time that's ever worked."  
  
He stared, disbelievingly. "So why did you try it?"  
  
A shrug. "It had to work sooner or later, didn't it? Are you coming or what?"  
  
He followed the man out of the cell door. They were about to open the door out of the brig, when his companion held up his hand dramatically. "Wait."  
  
Gibbs froze. "What?" he hissed.  
  
"I need me effects." He watched in disbelief as the man started hunting around the brig, finally producing, with an expression of profound relief, a battered hat, a pistol and sword on a belt, which he strapped round his waist, and a compass which disappeared into a pocket of the coat. "There we go. Be alright now."  
  
Gibbs decided not to say anything. They opened the door and came face to face with a guard.  
  
"Sorry, we were looking for someone else." The pirate said brightly, then hit the man over the head. Gibbs took his sword and gun, saying that it was because the other man already had but really because he wasn't altogether happy with the lunatic being armed with the weapons he had already, without giving him more.  
  
"Come on." They made their way, not up on deck like Gibbs had been expecting, but into what seemed to be a store room. There was a large porthole and it was to this that his companion headed. He looked through it and nodded expectantly. "Tortuga." He announced, pointing to the island. "You'll like it there." A thought seemed to strike him. "Can you swim?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh good, nothing to worry about then. Out the port hole."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, we can't exactly be going up on deck and saying 'we've had enough of being prisoners, can you lend us a boat please' now can we. And if we wait until we reach shore, then I'll be killed publicly and you'll be for a life of servitude and I'm thinking that that's what we're trying to avoid. So out the port hole it is, savvy?"  
  
"But ..." Actually there didn't seem to be any real argument. It was probably better to drown while trying to escape than to be kept as a slave to these pirates. So, shrugging, he clambered out of the port hole and slid down into the water. The insane pirate did it far more gracefully.  
  
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Well, there you are then. Can Jack actually pull off a daring escape without any help from Will? Review and find out! Well, actually I'll be writing it whether you review or not. But I'd like it if you review, savvy? 


	6. Chapter 5

Nice to see I seem to have sparked some debate as to exactly whether or not Jack is capable of escaping unaided. Also nice to see someone other than this obsessive has watched the movie with the commentaries on - I strongly suspect Yakkorat has. *grins* Actually, watching them is a good idea. It gives you lots of ideas about what was intended.  
  
Cast of thousands: Which you then go on to ignore completely.  
  
Me: Exactly. But at least with the full knowledge that you are totally, and completely wrong. Anyway, as ever, thanks for all reviews. I'm glad people are confused by the prologue and the chapter numbers - cos it makes me feel slightly less stupid!  
  
Cast of thousands: Actually, if you can't figure out what chapter number you're on in your own story, you really are stupid.  
  
Me: ARRRR, scaborous dogs! Avast! *pause* What DOES that mean?  
  
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He was a little disgruntled to realise that the insane pirate was a far better swimmer than he was. At first, the man amused himself by swimming in circles around him, offering 'helpful' advice, but they were a long way from shore and the helpful advice soon stopped. However, he continued swimming in circles every so often. Gibbs assumed for a while that this was merely another example of the lunacy that seemed to define his companion, but realised after a while that the pirate was turning so that he could get a good look at the ship they had left behind.  
  
"Have they spotted us?" he asked anxiously.  
  
The other man stopped swimming for a moment and treaded water, directly in front of him, a slightly amused glint in his eyes acknowledging that Gibbs had finally realised the significance of his actions. "Not yet mate, but they'll soon be in a position to drop anchor and go ashore. I think they'll head for that dock there." He pointed and half went under before recovering his balance "So we're heading there." Another gesture, another momentary submergence. "Savvy?"  
  
"Aye." The point indicated was also the closest to them. He wondered whether avoiding the pirates was anything more than a rationalisation.  
  
They swam on. Gibbs soon felt grateful that they were heading for the closest point; his lungs were burning in his chest and his limbs felt like they had been weighed down with four anchors. His companion seemed less affected, although he was quiet now in a way that, despite their short association, already seemed unnatural. Glancing at him, it was hard to keep a smile off his face; the battered hat was perched proudly on top of his head. The rest of his 'effects' were bundled up in the coat and tucked under his arm. Gibbs wondered why they were so important that he was making the already difficult task of swimming ashore that bit harder. He himself had dropped the guard's sword and pistol as soon as he had hit the water. The only thing that his companion had abandoned had been the bottle of rum, to both of their quiet dismay.  
  
The dark eyed one had shrugged philosophically. "Easy come, easy go. Tortuga's full of taverns and the taverns are full of bottles."  
  
He realised his fellow escapee had stopped and was once again looking back at the ship.  
  
"They've launched boats." He announced. "Think they'll miss us, but it won't be by much."  
  
He felt a measure of anxiety. "Is there anything we can do?"  
  
"It is most definitely your turn to think of a plan," was the only reply. He took that to mean no.  
  
They continued swimming and reached the shore without incident. No-one seemed surprised to see two men climb out of the water, although it appeared that everyone who might have objected was either unconscious or looked as if they'd rather be.  
  
"What's wrong with everyone?" he whispered, sticking close to his companion.  
  
The other glanced around, apparently not having noticed anything amiss. "Hung-over." He answered finally. A very slight smirk. "Or exhausted. It's early, see?"  
  
"Oh." He wondered what the town was like at night if this was the result in the morning. He wasn't entirely sure why he was still following the man, but he wasn't at all sure what else he could do. They were walking along a narrow path on the docks, surrounded by water on either side. He wondered where they were going and decided that the quickest way to find out would be to ask.  
  
"Looking for information. No escape is complete until you know you're not about to get recaptured," was the answer, thrown casually over the shoulder. That moment's distraction was perhaps a little unfortunate as it resulted in the speaker walking straight into Captain Velvet. "Like that," he added, thoughtfully.  
  
Velvet looked him up and down, ignoring Gibbs entirely. "Well, well, well." He sneered. "I should have known that you are incapable of staying where you were put."  
  
"I might have done mate, but the view was terrible. You might want to consider that before you next try locking a person up. Now if that's all, I'll be on me way." He attempted to brush past the captain, but suddenly there were six crewmen standing there, swords bristling. The one named Skinny was giggling, inanely and viciously.  
  
"Oh, I really don't think so." For the first time, Velvet turned to Gibbs. "You can go. I have no real interest in drunken sailors. Run along and leave this" he paused and wrinkled his nose distastefully "scum, this ludicrous buffoon, to his fate."  
  
It would be really easy. After all, he hardly knew the man, and he was a pirate and a probable lunatic. He didn't even know the circumstances of the dispute between the two men. For all he knew, Velvet had been in the right. Except that the crazy one had looked after him after the nightmare. Had shared his rum, helped him escape and was, basically, likeable. If he could call a pirate friend, he would refer to this man so.  
  
Sighing, he moved so he was standing shoulder to shoulder with his ally. "I'll be stayin' with my friend," he said heavily. The look of surprise on Velvet's face was as nothing to the total astonishment that was apparent in his newly-claimed friend. He wondered at that, briefly. What had happened to this man, that he was unable to believe that anyone, even those that he had helped, would stand by him?  
  
Velvet's mouth was a thin line. "Very well." He snapped. "I had planned to make your execution both messy, and as public as the humiliation you offered to me, CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow."  
  
Gibbs couldn't help but interrupt. "Jack Sparrow?" he said, staring at the man beside him.  
  
"That's me. Surprised?" Sparrow grinned.  
  
"The Captain Jack Sparrow?"  
  
"Yes. And by the way, in your story? It was just a captain, not an admiral. Nice ship though. Nice hat."  
  
"Silence." Velvet screamed. They both looked at him. He seemed to regain his composure. "As I was saying, I had planned a messy and public execution for you, but your death in battle here is public enough." He gestured round; they had gathered a wide, and apparently drunken audience, none of whom appeared to care that he, and Jack Sparrow, were about to be killed. Looking at his men, the pirate captain said, quite simply "Kill them."  
  
Yelling the men charged forwards, Gibbs was surprised as Sparrow immediately darted in front of him and using his elbow more than his sword, knocked the first into the water. He grabbed the sword out of the man's hand as he was falling, and tossed it back to Gibbs. Happier now that he was armed, he moved to once again stand side by side with his pirate friend and engaged the next pirate to come along in battle.  
  
He had been trained to fight by the navy, but this wasn't his first fight against pirates by a long way, so he was unsurprised when they seemed disinclined to obey any of the normal rules of engagement. The narrow dock they were standing on meant that only a few of the pirates were able to come forwards at a time, diminishing the advantage that superior numbers offered. Gibbs didn't hesitate to cut them down, but looking over at his ally he saw that the pirates at Sparrow's feet appeared to be injured or unconscious rather than dead. It didn't appear to be because he lacked skill with a sword; in fact Gibbs made a mental note not to ever get in a fight with him; so he wondered what it was.  
  
The crowd were cheering, offering indiscriminate encouragement. He was facing the pirate known as Skinny now, the last of Velvet's men standing, and he could see that Jack Sparrow was duelling with Velvet, talking as much as fighting though he was too busy to pay heed to the words exchanged. Skinny was good; he had to admit that. And he was already tired, and out of practice besides. With a flick of the sword that he'd learnt long ago more to show off than anything else, he managed to disarm his opponent. Furious, the man ran in tight to Gibbs, hands reaching for his neck. With his arms effectively pinned down, Gibbs could only struggle wildly, trying to break the stranglehold. Then, desperation giving him strength, he slowly managed to raise his sword arm between them. He held it against Skinny's neck and, with all his might, pushed ..  
  
The sight of a disembodied head rolling past seemed to distract both Sparrow and Velvet. Sparrow recovered first though, and sent his opponent staggering backwards. However, the pirate captain wasn't nearly finished, twisting somehow, he pulled a pistol out of his belt and held it to Gibbs' head.  
  
"Drop your sword, Captain Sparrow." He said, mouth twisted into an evil sneer."  
  
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OK, that's a cliffhanger although I suppose the thing about doing prequels is that they can't be true cliffhangers.  
  
Thank god I can start writing Jack's name now. All that 'the other man' stuff was killing me. Although I did enjoy writing the 'lunatic pirate' ones .  
  
True confusion, I wrote Masters instead of Velvet at one point. *bangs head against handy brick wall* Don't write two ongoing stories at once. I will stick to that rule in future.  
  
Cast of thousands: Actually, your technically writing three at once. You just haven't updated one for a while.  
  
Me: Anyway, please review. 


	7. Chapter 6

You know, I'm really bored of having nothing to do, although doubtless I will be cursing that though by this time next week, after classes start.  
  
As ever, my thanks for all reviews. Oh and Lady Russell Holmes? It's from the blooper reel on the DVD. It's Orlando Bloom and I THINK he's in the blacksmith's shop while saying it.  
  
Cast of thousands: You really DO need to get yourself a girl, mate.  
  
Anyway, think this is going to be a short chapter.  
  
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The weight of the pistol against his head was the only thing in the world. For a second, he was completely unaware of anything else. It was an odd way for his life to end, in a battle on the dock of a pirate sanctuary, not for the great causes that had been championed by the navy, but rather for the sake of a pirate he scarcely knew. He did his best to keep his face blank; he wouldn't give the satisfaction of letting them know he was afraid. Still the gathered crowd yelled their encouragement; shouting for his blood, or for a miraculous escape with equal fervour and no real concern. They obviously did not expect Jack Sparrow to give up his advantage any more than he did. He knew the stories of the pirate captain; a cunning trickster who was always out for all he could take. It was obvious that Velvet would kill him as soon as he put down his sword. No pirate would give his life for another man, especially an ex-royal navy man that he hardly knew.  
  
Jack dropped his sword.  
  
Gibbs stared incredulously. He met Sparrow's eyes; he shrugged, very slightly although what that was supposed to signify, Gibbs had no idea. Three more members of Velvet's crew came running up and in a second, Sparrow was entirely surrounded by steel.  
  
"You see, Captain Sparrow," Velvet said casually, his pistol still pressed tightly against Gibbs head as a reminder that though he may be being ignored, he was not forgotten. "You really are too soft hearted for your own good. That, of course, is why you lost the Black Pearl."  
  
If it wasn't for the imminence of death, Gibbs would have asked questions. He was always interested in a good story.  
  
"Oh, you heard about that, did you mate?" Sparrow asked with the same level of casualness a disarming grin apparent on his face.  
  
"I am not your mate!" The pistol pressed tighter against the side of his head and he silently willed Sparrow not to provoke the man further. "And, in case you don't realise, the whole of the Caribbean is laughing at your incompetence."  
  
"You didn't seem so amused when I blew up your ship. How much was the silk on board worth again?"  
  
"More than you could ever afford, you miserable excuse for a pirate! I will never understand why you didn't take it!"  
  
Yet another insane smirk. "Wasn't my colour, mate."  
  
Gibbs couldn't entirely stifle the exclamation as the pistol pressed sharper yet against his skull. Both Velvet and Sparrow looked at him, the latter with concern, the former with contempt. With an annoyed sigh, Velvet reversed the pistol and swung it against Gibbs' head. He saw stars and felt the ground coming up to meet him.  
  
He remained conscious though and was therefore able to witness what seemed either final proof that Jack Sparrow was as crazy as he appeared, or that he truly was the strange genius that lived in the legends. It seemed that Sparrow had started moving the instant that Gibbs began to fall, while all the pirates' attention was occupied. He twisted between the swords, in a way that Gibbs had only ever seen once before; from a female acrobat performing in a bordello. As soon as they saw the movement, the pirates slashed out desperately but it appeared that Sparrow had already anticipated their probable movements and was avoiding their strokes before they began; earning himself only one, shallow cut across the shoulder. His charge finished, arms outstretched he knocked Velvet to the ground. For what Gibbs later realised could only have been a second, the two men wrestled on the ground, then with an easy grace which entirely contradicted his earlier drunken swagger, Sparrow leapt up, leaving Velvet still slumped on the ground. There was a pistol in Sparrow's hand. He pressed it to the other pirate's forehead.  
  
"Seems to me," he said, his voice suddenly full of a quiet and ominous menace, "That this would be an excellent time for negotiating, wouldn't you say."  
  
Gibbs, still dizzy, managed to sit up. He wanted a better view of this. The crowd too, were silent at this unexpected turn of events, and Velvet's crew appeared entirely confused as to what they should be doing.  
  
"Order your men back to your ship." He wondered how Sparrow could appear so cool.  
  
Velvet smirked a little. "I would remind you, Captain Sparrow, that it is well known that you refuse to use that shot on any but one man."  
  
"That is an excellent point. But this" and the finger on the trigger moved, just ever so slightly, but very obviously. "This is not my pistol." Only then did Gibbs see that the second pistol Velvet had been carrying was missing from his belt.  
  
Velvet's face distinctly paled. "Back to the ship, men." He said, his eyes never leaving Sparrow's face. It was very noticeable that his crew did not hesitate to leave him behind.  
  
"Now," Sparrow said, apparently enjoying the situation. "How about our negotiations?"  
  
"Alright." Velvet appeared to have lost all desire to do anything, but get this over with.  
  
"Firstly, you will neither go after me, nor my friend here." He didn't even glance in Gibbs direction.  
  
Velvet did, a look of sheer contempt. But there was resignation apparent in his eyes. "Agreed."  
  
"Secondly, you'll stop harassing the rumrunners."  
  
"Agreed." There was a look of helpless fury on his face. "That's what all this was about, wasn't it?"  
  
Sparrow went on as though he hadn't heard. "And thirdly." Now, that look of pure, amused malevolence. "Thirdly, you'll give all these fine people," with his free hand he gestured the watching crowd, "A dance and buy each and every one of them a drink." There was a loud cheer.  
  
Velvet's poise faded entirely and he indulged in a bout of swearing that Gibbs, with all his years in the navy, was very impressed at.  
  
"None of that now," Sparrow said easily, his finger still on the trigger. "Do we have an accord?"  
  
"Yes, damn you." Snarled, an animal deprived of its prey.  
  
"Good then." He stood back suddenly, letting Velvet up, his hand still clutching the pistol. He watched as a few of the watchers grabbed Velvet and pulled him away, then turned back to Gibbs.  
  
"You alright, mate?" he asked. There was a tinge of worry in his voice.  
  
"Aye, I think so." He gratefully accepted the hand that was offered to help him get to his feet. "Will he keep to his word?"  
  
"Probably, though it might be an idea for us not to linger here. So lets be leaving."  
  
"Where?" He didn't even think to question the 'we'.  
  
"Somewhere we can get a drink? Where else?" The gestures now seemed more eloquent than insane.  
  
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Told you so. Short chapter. That now is the end of all action type stuff, although that was never what this story was about. Only one chapter left to write, plus the epilogue. Unfortunately those will be the hardest. Well, chapter four was probably just as difficult.  
  
By the way, there was only one sentence in this that was not in Gibbs' POV. It was deliberate; can anyone spot it? Doesn't really matter if you don't, I'm just curious. I suppose its possible that there are other lines not in the right POV but those are simply screw ups, and if I ever notice them will make me depressed.  
  
Please review, by the way. 


	8. Chapter 7

Hmmm, writing this at ten past eleven so I'm thinking that I'll not be finishing my one chapter a day plan.  
  
Cast of thousands: Actually, you promised nine chapters in nine days. You never said that it would be one a day.  
  
Me: Oh well, that's alright then. Once again, thank you to all my reviewers I like that you like.  
  
Special thanks to Yakkorat for pointing out the repetition. Its fixed now. I hate bloody repetition, no excuse for it, sheer carelessness on my part, so I thank you. Oh, and a thousands thanks for all the reviews for all my work. The criticism is always right and the praise means a lot coming from you.  
  
Oh, and ping pong 5? I'm kinda already planning at least two sequels to this. *smirks* I've got eight years to play with, remember? And I love these characters.  
  
Would that I had written them in the first place, I could die happy right now. As it is, as you know I do not own them.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Sparrow lifted a purse off a drunk to pay for their drinks. He did it with a disturbing air of nonchalance, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. Not that Gibbs was actually complaining when the rum appeared.  
  
They sat down at a quiet table. The sun had only risen a few hours ago and yet there was already a fight going on at the other side of the tavern and there were a number of women in various states of undress, batting their eyelids at the slightly wealthier looking sailors. Gibbs had never been to a place like this, but Sparrow had been right; he did like it.  
  
He drank the rum with a strong feeling of enjoyment for the first time in a long while. He noticed that Sparrow was staring at him intently from the other side of the table. "So, will you tell me now what your name is?"  
  
"Joshamee Gibbs." He answered.  
  
"Ah." Sparrow leaned back, nodding. It appeared that that was all the conversation he desired.  
  
Not acceptable to Gibbs, there were many things he wanted to know. "Sparrow," he began but stopped when the other man winced and held up a hand.  
  
"Captain Sparrow if you please. Or, to you, Jack."  
  
"Alright. Jack. Why did you drop the sword?"  
  
"I knew that he wouldn't kill me anyway, not right off. His kind likes to gloat. And you stood by me so I stood by you. That's it. Nothing more."  
  
Somehow, he could tell that he was being lied to. But the intelligence and even compassion that he had glimpsed were once again locked behind a mask of drunken insanity. He sensed that he would get no further. He changed the subject.  
  
"You didn't kill him." He stated, trusting that the question would be obvious.  
  
"It was of more profit to me to leave him alive. Allowed me to repay a debt," more hand waving and a swift moving on of topic, "and it will add to the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow."  
  
There seemed more truth in this, but still there was that measure of avoidance. The legend hid the man. Or more accurately, the man was hiding behind the legend. And he, Gibbs, wanted to know, to understand. Perhaps a question about facts, rather than reasons would help.  
  
"Velvet said you'd lost your ship. The Black . Jewel?"  
  
"Pearl" corrected Jack. There was a dreamy look in his eyes, but it was tempered with loss and sorrow. Gibbs recognised that look well; he knew the feelings behind it intimately. He didn't say anything, and after a moment, Jack's face closed off and he sprang to his feet with a grin and a promise of more rum.  
  
Gibbs didn't really know why it was important to him that he come to understand Jack Sparrow. Except that they had risked everything fighting besides each other and the man had been the only one who had simply understood and accepted his pain, without offering false platitudes. That had brought comfort. And now he wanted to know about him. That was all. Not so surprising, really.  
  
Jack returned. He dropped the two tankards on the table with a loud clunk yet still managed not to spill a single drop.  
  
"Here we go," he proclaimed joyfully, drinking deeply. "Nectar." Gibbs' confusion must have shown in his face. "Drink of the gods, mate." He turned to look at something over Gibbs' shoulder, an appreciative smile on his face. Gibbs turned too.  
  
A blond woman was approaching, obviously doing everything in her power to look enticing. The breath caught in his throat, in the dim light of the tavern she looked like Ann .  
  
The woman walked up to their table, her eyes on Jack, a warm smile on her face.  
  
"Sienna!" Jack said, delight colouring his voice. The woman's smile froze and she slapped him across the face.  
  
"Now why did you do that, I wonder?"  
  
"Because my name is Emmeline, Jack." She snapped and walked off.  
  
Gibbs looked at Jack. The other man didn't seem amazingly perturbed, he simply rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "In that case, who is Sienna?" he asked, pointlessly. Then he seemed to catch sight of Gibbs and frowned. "Are you alright mate? You look as though you've seen a ghost.  
  
"No, I haven't." She hadn't even looked like Ann, close up. And she certainly hadn't acted like her. Still, even he could hear the hesitancy in his voice, and the utter weariness, the desolation. It was impossible that his perceptive, if bloody minded, companion would fail to pick it up.  
  
Right enough, "Do you want to talk about it? I hear it helps."  
  
Why not, nothing else did. And tomorrow he would leave this place and never see Jack Sparrow again, so what did it matter if the pirate knew the contents of his heart? But . "Not here."  
  
There was no hesitation as Jack nodded and led him out of the tavern. He drained his tankard first of course. He followed the pirate through the streets of Tortuga, oddly scarcely aware of the swaggering walk now, though he did notice that people moved out of their way. He wondered if that was due to Jack's reputation or if rumour of the fight this morning had spread. But fights were surely commonplace here.  
  
They ended up on what was apparently a deserted part of the docks. Jack flopped down on the edge, his feet dangling mere inches out of the water. Rather more cautiously, Gibbs sat down beside him. Once again, he was astonished when his companion produced a bottle of rum.  
  
"I .." one hand traced a loose and thoughtful circle in the air "acquired it in the tavern."  
  
"I didn't see you."  
  
"Good, then neither did anyone else."  
  
Shaking his head, Gibbs declined the proffered bottle. "Some things deserve to be said sober."  
  
He watched, as the bottle vanished back into the coat, unopened. "If it must be said sober, then it should be listened to likewise."  
  
He felt gratitude for the seriousness Jack was offering, a mood he suspected was not shown to just anyone. Stumbling he began his tale. He spoke of his marriage, and his love, of her life and her early death. Ever more hesitantly he spoke of his feelings afterwards, of the nightmares, the fear and the overwhelming loneliness. He didn't look at the man by his side, and he faced no interruptions. When he stopped speaking, there was silence. Whispering, more to himself than to any listener he added. "There is nothing left to live for."  
  
"There is always something left to live for." The answering voice was as soft as his had been. He turned and the dark eyes held no trace of humour or insanity. "I was marooned on an island. Given a pistol with only one shot and believe me, as I saw my ship sail away under the command of my treacherous friend, I wanted to use it on myself. But I didn't and do you know why?"  
  
He shook his head. The purposeful voice continued. "Because as long as we still draw breath there is the chance that tomorrow will be better. Just a chance, but it's all I've ever asked for. It's all a man truly needs." He couldn't help but question how someone so obviously younger than himself could appear so much older. "I could tell you that the pain you are feeling will fade, that the good memories will return to tide you over, but I have no doubt that you've heard it a thousand and more times, without receiving any comfort." He wondered precisely when that friendly arm had been draped over his shoulders, but knew he wouldn't shake it off for all the world. "So live now, as she would want you to, and trust that life will return."  
  
They sat in silence again. This time Gibbs did not refuse the offer of the bottle. Jack was staring out to sea, probably to allow him to pretend that there were no tears in his eyes. One more thing to feel grateful for.  
  
After a time, could have been five minutes, could have been five hours, Jack asked; "What will you be for now?"  
  
"Going back to Port Royal I suppose." He felt the weight of his answer, the thought of resuming his previous existence filled him with a deep despair.  
  
"Or you could stay here." The suggestion was made with a lightness that seemed entirely faked.  
  
"What?"  
  
Desperate hand waving. "Well not here. More on the sea as it were. Although, honestly quite a lot of time is spent here. But become a pirate is what I meant."  
  
"I'm no pirate," he replied, automatically indignant.  
  
He almost flushed at the amused look Jack shot him. "Do you think we're all 'Arrr swash, swash, buckle, buckle'?" The tone was almost identical to the one he himself used as a pirate voice in the stories he told. He had to bite back a laugh at the 'fierce some' expression that accompanied the impression. "I think you could make a fine pirate. Under my expert tutelage of course."  
  
"Of course." He agreed, not bothering anymore to hide his amusement. He considered the offer. Why not? To be honest, it sounded better than his life at Port Royal. And he had seen, from Jack's example that he wouldn't necessarily have to become the indiscriminate killer that had always been the navy's description of a pirate. "Alright. I'll give it a try." Seeing the delight in his new captain's eyes he added hastily. "It'll only be for the time-being, mind. Until I find where I want to be."  
  
"That's fine mate." Jack shook his hand enthusiastically, then began scanning the inhabited docks over to the right of them. "We'll need a ship. Just as a temp'rary measure mind. Until I get the Pearl back."  
  
How could you argue with that? It seemed perfectly reasonable. But there was something that he was curious about. "The island. The one you were marooned on."  
  
Dark eyes turned to regard him. "Yes?"  
  
"How did you get off it?"  
  
A pause, then Jack leaned in close as though he were about to impart confidential information. He brought up a hand in front of his face and paused once more. Finally, perfectly seriously, he said "Sea turtles. Think about it." Then with deceptive speed, he got up and half walked, half staggered in the direction of the ships.  
  
Gibbs frowned, then shrugged, smiled and took off after him.  
  
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There we go. That's the story finished. But there is an epilogue, which shall be posted tomorrow. Or, by the clock, later today.  
  
I would be very grateful for reviews of this chapter, it was the hardest one to write and I want as many honest opinions as possible. 


	9. Epilogue

Well done to those who spotted where the "Arrr, swash swash buckle buckle" line came from; you have all watched the DVD far too often. And so have I. Lady Russell Holmes asked if I could get Jack to say it, and, since I immediately thought of somewhere that it would work in, I couldn't resist. So, thanks for that one.  
  
Um, L.M.Bell, if you are meaning that the action is slow, I apologise. If on the other hand you mean my updating is slow then I pray to any god that may watch over fanfiction writers that you're being sarcastic cos one chapter a day is as much as I can reasonably handle.  
  
Cast of thousands: Wimp.  
  
Rhadeya; no, the criticism is very helpful and you're totally right about that sentence. I'll get round to correcting it as soon as I've finished both stories. Now there's an odd thought.  
  
By the way, this is going to be very short, just a little coda.  
  
Cast of thousands: Great, now you're warning people off on the basis of chapter length.  
  
Me: Never mind. Also, this is back in the same timeline as the prologue, if anyone remembers that.  
  
********************************************************************  
  
He woke up, which immediately told him that he'd fallen asleep. He was leaning back on the chair and the first thing he was aware of was that his neck hurt. He rubbed it, gently grimacing; it would be painful for the rest of the day now. It was then that he became aware of the second thing; he was being watched.  
  
He sat up straight and found himself looking directly into his captain's eyes. Jack was still lying in bed; which strongly suggested that he too had just woken up. There was a slightly odd expression on his face; thoughtful and cautious.  
  
"Good morning captain," Gibbs said, deciding that cheeriness could be the best approach. "How are we feeling?"  
  
"I have no idea how you might be feeling, mate. For myself, I'm feeling fine."  
  
He leaned over and checked Jack's temperature. The younger man did his best to pull away, but Gibbs was expecting that and grabbed him by the shoulder first. The fever seemed to have subsided, as it had the last time Gibbs had checked, immediately before he had fallen asleep, but it had still been an uneasy night between his worry for Jack and the memories of another time, which had seemed so real at moments as to almost overwhelm him.  
  
"Well?" Jack asked impatiently. "What, then, is the result of your prying into me health?"  
  
"You're better."  
  
He watched unsurprised as his friend immediately sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wondered, idly, whether it would have made any difference to Jack's actions if he had said that he had only minutes to live.  
  
With one boot on and the other in his hand, Jack turned to look at him. "What happened anyway? Don't remember going to bed."  
  
"That's because you didn't. Once again seeking to keep your reputation as the daftest man in the Caribbean, you pushed yourself too far."  
  
"I collapsed?" A pause, an apprehensive look, "Where?"  
  
"At the helm." The sound of the boot hitting the floor made Gibbs jump. He was concerned as Jack closed his eyes and leaned back on the bed. "No-one thinks any the less of you, Jack."  
  
"They saw." It was a statement, not a question and a mumbled one at that. He knew 'they' meant the rest of the crew. What would it take for Jack to lose his fears of a new mutiny?  
  
"No-one thinks any the less of you," he repeated. And it was the truth. Jack's crew looked up to him, frequently in bewilderment, but there was admiration and a genuine liking nonetheless. A great many of them had been by during the night, just peering in the door to check if their captain would be alright. He knew, without trying again, that Jack would neither welcome nor believe this information, so he kept silent and watched Jack retrieve his boot and pull it on, every line in the man's body speaking of determination and pride.  
  
At least, that was his intention. But he was nothing if not persistent, and his friend's attitude was frustrating to say the least. "Except me."  
  
Jack swivelled round and, in other circumstances, Gibbs would have found the expression of disbelief on his face comical. "You think less of me? You think I'm weak?"  
  
"I know you're not weak Jack. Everyone aboard knows that. Everyone in the Caribbean knows that. So there is no need for you to half kill yourself to prove it. You have a fine crew here, every one of them willing to sail with you to the gates of hell." He was standing over his captain, and though he was not shouting, his voice suddenly seemed far too loud.  
  
"I don't have the bearing." Dark eyes fixed on his. Amusement, and perhaps an acknowledgement. His anger subsided; he stepped aside.  
  
Jack stood up. He remained standing still for a second, swaying slightly although Gibbs couldn't tell if it was because of his injury or simply because he was Jack Sparrow. Then he headed towards the door. Moving faster than he had previously considered himself capable of, Gibbs darted in front of it, blocking his captain's way.  
  
Jack stopped, immediately in front of him and waited. Gibbs found himself unaccountably nervous. "You're staying here until you give me your word on something." At least his voice was level.  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
"That, for the next week you'll rest or eat whenever me or Anamaria tell you to. And if you're tired, or your leg hurts, you'll tell us that and go and lie down."  
  
A flash of annoyance and resentment, quickly stifled. "I'm not a child."  
  
He folded his arms and leaned back against the door, saying nothing.  
  
"You said yourself mate, I'm better."  
  
He began humming under his breath.  
  
"Alright then," a moment of calculation "But, not a week. Just for today."  
  
"Five days."  
  
"Two."  
  
"Four."  
  
"Three." There was a warning look in Jack's eyes. Gibbs decided he'd better not argue much more; he didn't want to wear out his friend's patience.  
  
"Agreed." He had worked out they'd settle on four, but three days in which he could ensure that Jack wouldn't exhaust himself were a lot better than nothing.  
  
He was about to move away, but the memories that had surfaced the night before were still fresh in his mind. "Jack," he began. Obviously thinking that there was some new way being thought up to keep him of the deck of his ship, Jack glared ferociously at Gibbs, who ignored him completely, focussing on saying what he had to. "Do you remember when I made the choice to turn pirate, I told you it would only be till I found where I wanted to be?"  
  
The anger quickly turned to apprehension, then to a kind of saddened acceptance. "Where is it that you have found to settle down?"  
  
Gibbs was startled; he hadn't thought of his words being interpreted that way. "No, I just wanted to tell you that there is nowhere else I'd rather be. No-one that I would more willingly call captain. Or friend."  
  
For a second he saw Jack smile, a genuine, warm, gratified expression. Then it was gone. "This ship 'as no use for such sentimentality from her quartermaster, do I make myself clear?"  
  
Gibbs grinned at the gruff tone. "Inescapably," he said, trying to reflect Jack's own voice and mannerisms.  
  
The corner of the captain's mouth twitched. "Well, stand aside, man. Let me past."  
  
"Aye, sir." He moved out of the way, then followed Captain Jack Sparrow out of the cabin and onto the deck of the Black Pearl.  
  
Fin  
  
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Wow, never thought I'd get to write "The end"  
  
Cast of thousands: You didn't, you wrote fin.  
  
Me: Well, it's basically the same idea. Anyway, that was the story for good or ill. So tell me what you thought, of the epilogue and overall.  
  
Apology OK, this is annoying. This was actually finished yesterday, but I failed to realise that the library shuts earlier at weekends and I couldn't post it. So the answer to the question, "Can I put up a nine chapter story in nine days," is no. Ah, well hope you enjoyed it anyway. 


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